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sad poetry

la agonie d'avoir trop de puissance
en tant qu'elle
ces coeurs ont été tissés des joies et des soins humains
bien que repine d'amour, et frottement de raison
levé des morts
sous un arbre de propagation de châtaigne
je suis le vent qui hésite
je vous chante
au-dessus d'elles toutes, regardant vers le bas

 



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